


where sweep the waters of the blue Juniata

by empires



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: M/M, Purple Prose, Supernatural Elements, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: For Nopholom, who asked forThe one where Billy is the supernatural being and goody is the human.Thank you for the wonderful prompts! I was unreasonably late with the entry, but know that somewhere, there's also an android AU being steadily worked in your honor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nopholom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/gifts).



Nose to the wind, Billy rose to his feet. Something crept near to his hard won territory, something inched stalked closer shielded by the shadows folding evening to night.

A handful of dirt, a splash of clean water, Billy spat them both onto the flames quelling the flames for a moment. In the places of the licking flames came smoke, thick and billowing, forming a round circle before him. 

“Reveal yourself to me, traveler,” he said, voice low. “Show me your truth so that I may devour it.” 

Bidden by those charmed words, the smoke flattened and shown like a mirror, and in its gleaming surface he saw the bending of grass stone by worn boots. A face soon appeared, one of a man, eyes a stony shade of determined shining deep in a sun-blasted face. Billy’s expression soured considerably.

“Oh. It’s you.”

:::

It was written in the great books of magic, in letters of blood and gold fire that the further forward a generation moved, the further magic faded. Who had penned it, Goodnight did not know, but he was quite sure that they had never heard of the Robicheaux clan when they inscribed such nonsense for they were a family whose blood ran deep and true, turning even the most barren soil black with the stain of their gifts. Much of the magic displayed on the corners or whispered in the dank hollows of darkest bayou are products of Robicheaux blood, by blows of their arrival under Napoleon had, with the gleam of empire in his eye, decreed them to be fruitful and multiply. 

The blood they shared, that filthy, magical brew was what drove Goodnight over the endless cracks and crags withering the badlands for seven days. The new moon marked this as the seventh night. He searched for the fox-tailed creature rumored to have gained control of this patch of bad land, and he would not stop searching until he found it.

When his feet felt like they could go no further and the hot air sucked the last bit of moisture from his lying tongue, Goodnight stumbled upon a stream. The rocky bed held no more than a trickle which pearled over the rocky bed with miserly restraint. He threw himself to the ground and placed his lips to the rucks and slurped like a newborn calf on its first teat until his belly felt hot and full. 

How clean it tasted this water bursting forth full and milky with minerals gained over the waters travels. How cold and perfect. Finally, when he could take no more, Goodnight pushed onto his knees with a groan.

The land around him existed in a certain quiet he’s come to find only in sacred spaces, like the hallowed halls of the Cathedral of Saint Louis King of France, the quiet alcove found in the center of a sewing circle, or the soft thighs of a properly courted talents weaving magic in parlor corners. He was at the boundary. 

A grin bloomed across his handsome face, perfect as a single rose. “Well, look at you Goodnight Robicheaux, first born of the seventh son and the seventh sun. You’ve found your place.” 

And with that said, Goodnight crawled to the other side.

:::

Billy spoke the instant the human entered his clearing.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

The human startled, perhaps thinking he was alone. And then he jumped again when the wrinkle behind him crackled close, the sound sharp as broken twigs, and the hot, dry lands were closed to them. 

_ Good riddance _ , Billy thought with a sniff. It was no place for him.

It stared for a moment, the strange human man with ruffled hair and an undaunted grin before stepping closer to Billy’s cold fire. “Who are you?”

Billy pushed up to his elbow. His three tails undulated over the soft grass. “You enter my home, my place between worlds, and you ask who I am? Such temerity.” 

“Then I humbly apologize for arriving at such a late hour,” said the stranger, recovering quickly. His peach-colored mouth spread into a generous smile. “If I had known such company awaited me, this sun-dazed turkey would have made an effort for timeliness.” He gave a shallow bow. “My name is Goodnight Robicheaux, and it is my honor to meet you.”

Billy’s pointed ears twitching forward, pleased. “As it should be.” 

“And if one as unworthy as I were to convoke you, oh great spirit, a vision as rare as a falling star upon the horizon, how might I call?”

Billy frowned, but it was a frown of concentration. Despite spending so many years walking this foreign land and learning to understand its ways and languages, he had yet to meet a man who embellished the English language so excessively. “Hmm. You wish to know my name.”

“Well. Yes," said Goodnight, somewhat abashed. "That is what I said.”

“You may call me Billy.”

Goodnight’s smile returned in full force. “Billy. Thank you. And thank you for your hospitality.”

“How odd that I enjoy your gratitude before offering any.” Billy kept his lips flat lest he betray his amusement. But he had been chased by this man for six days and found on the seventh. Hospitality should be granted. “But I suppose I will over you a drink if you stay and listen to my tale.” He reached into the wide sleeve of his robe and produced two small cups. A heavy clay jar followed.

“As I said before,” replied Goodnight, seating himself on the soft grass. “It is my honor, Billy. I know I wouldn't have made it if you hadn't let me.”

Billy pulled another jar from his sleeve and replaced the other with it. It is his second best wine. After all, this Goodnight traveled very far to find him. 

:::

Raised under the genteel hand of Constance Marie Robincheaux  née d’Évreux , Goodnight had considerable edification in the social graces. It would be his attention to etiquette, his manner and good breeding that separated him from the  _ habitants _ . He knows staring is an unforgivable offense, yet Goodnight can no more let his eyes wander away from the wondrous creature before him than a compass needle can resist true north. And his name was Billy. A lie perhaps, but one so sweetly told Goodnight can’t help but be captivated by its simple nature.

But Billy was not at all simple. He was a kumiho. Clearly, kumiho means being crafted by the gods. Billy was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and Goodnight was not afraid to say so. Every move the kumiho made was filled with magical power. It crackled from beneath his tanned skin with the strength of an earthquake. And his voice. That was like a song played like a heavenly choir. His smoky chords reminded Goodnight of bourbon, supple, dark, and sweet, so when Billy began invited Goodnight to sit at his feet and hear his tale, he sat straight down.

“My father was a shaman to my people, a  _ baksu _ , and he held within his palm the light of learning. It was a gift and for a time, his light flourished. He entered the temple and learned to walk the seven paths and ponder the secrets of the universe. But it was not enough. So when he was still young and full of strength, my father left his temple and searched for knowledge.”

“Like me,” Goodnight whispered, marveling when the beauteous creature bared his teeth in a smile.

“Yes. Very similar. He traveled far from home, following the great river to find its source for--”

“Because water travels all kinds of places and never seems to fade always comes back renewed. So of course the source of a river would hold many secrets. Oh excuse me,” Goodnight said when his companion cleared his golden throat. “This is your story.”

“Soon the river climbed from the valley to the hills, and from the hills to the edge of a great forest. And there, the young shaman met an impossibility. She was as beautiful as the rising moon, soft and gentle as the southern wind, as merciless as the raging waters, and yet, one look into eyes and my father knew only love.

“The impossible woman spoke to him saying, ‘You have traveled far, traveler, and further still you must go. But before you cross into the sleeping forest, you must let me taste your truth.’ For who could seek knowledge without being tested. So I say to you Goodnight Robicheaux,” his mouth curled awkwardly around the words but it sounded sweet as music to Goodnight’s ears. “Seventh son and the seventh sun, before you cross into this land’s most sacred place, you must let me taste your truth.”

Goodnight blinked slowly fair drunk on the story. “I suppose that is fair but I am unsure as to what you mean by tasting my truth. I’m. I’m not going to have to bleed for it, am I?”

“If you like,” said Billy granting him a vulpine grin.

:::

Billy stripped him to the quick using nothing but his claws, and Goodnight had stood naked as a lamb. A scrabbling, greedy wind raced over his body, prickling his skin and hardening his nipples, yet it seemed hardly felt as Billy’s dark gaze roiled over him, black as pitch, hot as coal. 

And then this Billy, this half-human creature from another land laid hands on him. It was a revelation.

Now Goodnight was no stranger to intimacies between a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a man and a man and a woman, or. It would be easier to say that his education extensive. Positively continental. But never had he been touched with the ruthless confidence found in the kumiho’s hand. It was heaven and hell, a strong palm curling over his prick, a hot mouth laving up the length of his pale neck, tender lips to taste and tease across his lips. Goodnight begged for more.

Billy sank to his knees. He spat into his palm grinning when Goodnight moaned spilling a little from his prick. “All I need is a taste, but you seem ready to quench my thirst.”

Whatever fancy retort that remained in his reserves fell away with Billy’s plush lips sliding around him. His hand curled over the base of Goodnight’s length stroking in time with each sucking kiss from Billy’s mouth. Goodnight rocked up once, twice, moaning fit to be tied. It seemed the truth was located somewhere between his rigid cockerel and his own soft thighs and the intimacy required to taste such a thing included the finest pleasuring this side of the Rio Grande, a river whose flowing bounty paled when compared to the sticky pulses coaxed from the slit of his wet cockhead. He came long and he came loud, ragged shout shattering the air, come shooting across Billy’s tongue.

Billy sat on his haunches, tails waving like flags in a breeze. His dark pink tongue licked across his lips with relish. “I think there is so much more to learn about you.” Billy’s fingers squeezed the meat of Goodnight’s ass stealing naughty touches in between. “Will you allow me another taste?”

Goodnight nodded vehemently. He did so love to share.

:::

“What does it say?” Goodnight asks much later, long after the fire died and the stars wheeled and turned in a beauteous waltz high above, arranging fates and enticing wishes. “My truth.”

Billy stroked his fingers along Goodnight’s neck, cool to the touch yet red, red with a passion he still feels in his bones. He did more than taste truth. Billy feasted on this wandering magi, this round-eared kit yet already he longs for more. The words swelled against the seam of his lips rushing to burst free.

_ That we exist in this world only to find a path and this path, treacherous and vain, has led me to you. _

_ That we are now bound by tightening silken red strands that will meld us so closely that I will know your thoughts before you speak them and you will speak the words I have only heard but never felt.  _

_ That we will die beside each other and rise again, alone and aching to walk a path, treacherous and vain, until it brings me back to you. _

Goodnight’s truth told Billy this and so much more. Yet when Billy spoke, he said only this, “You have very, very far to go, yet from now on, the way will be considerably more bearable.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you will have me beside you.”


End file.
